Credo
by MyUnchainedMelody
Summary: My second one-shot. Again, zuko-centric. A tad of Zutara. What if Zuko has a journal? What if Katara reads it?


**Credo**

She stood before the wooden door, tracing the various lines in the wood with her fingers. The worn timber presented a dilemma for her. It formed a barrier between the violating or the gaining of trust. If she would push the door open and thus enter the room, she would invade another person's privacy.

If she walked away from it doubt would consume her. This ravenous hunger for reassurance was driving her mad.

He always made her live difficult. Even now when he had joined their side. No matter how much he reassured them he had changed, she could not believe it. Would not believe it. Not when the lives of her loved ones were at stake.

She saw her own doubt reflected in the eyes of the others. But their doubts diminished day by day. They started to accept him and even trust him. He didn't deserve that! Because of him, Aang almost died. She shuddered when she remembered the deadly lighting striking Aang.

Still, a small part of her believed in him. The part that remembered the Zuko from the catacombs. There he had been sincere – or at least that was what she had thought him to be.

But a larger part berated her for being so gullible.

She had been standing in front of the door for quite some time now. She was gathering the courage to push it open and seek proof. She wasn't sure what it was she sought. A letter to Azula perhaps? War plans? Anything.

As she thought of Azula, her resolve strengthened and her jaw set in determination. This was a matter of trust. And that was something to not handle lightly.

The room was dark and furniture sparse. Only a makeshift bed stood against the right wall.

A ray of sun fell in through the window. Dust swirled in the sunlight. Against the wall stood his backpack, beckoning her. After all, what could it hurt? She was only going to look and he would never find out. No harm done. If he was true to his word, she wouldn't find anything. And she would be able to trust him. Without some closure, that was never going to happen.

And so, telling herself she did nothing wrong sat down on the makeshift bed and looked at the backpack. It was rather strange, that he had left it. … Did he trust them enough to not look in his backpack? Or had he merely not thought of it?

The endless array of questions that her mind barraged her with drove her crazy.

She untied the knot and pushed the flap of the brown sack back. The rough texture slid through her hands and again, she wondered if she was right in doing this?

But then the image of Aang, lying limply in her arms came forth and persuaded her.

The first things she took out were two portraits. On one, she recognized his Uncle, Iroh with a younger boy but the person in the second frame she had never seen.

It was a woman with beautiful dark long hair and amber eyes. She gave a warm and gentle impression, but her eyes spoke of infinite sadness. The picture was rather melancholy. It was the same kind of melancholy that Zuko possessed. Her hair was put up in a topknot with a crown.

That was when comprehension dawned on her. This was his mother.

Staring at the picture, perplexed, she couldn't help but wonder how he would have been had she lived. Surely he would've been more gentle, more open.

But that was all speculation. After looking one last time at the portrait in wonder, she carried on with her search. She didn't know what it was she sought so desperately.

The next item in his bag was the shell of a turtle duck. Having no clue to its history, she set it aside. Then she saw a book. The letters on its cover were faded and with some trouble she could make out the words 'for my prince'. She opened it and skimmed through the pages. It appeared to be some sort of journal, the difference lying in the fact that he only wrote at irregular intervals. The book fell open on a page and according to the ease with which it fell open, it was a much read page. Feeling as if she was crossing an invisible border, she almost put it away. But something caught her eye. Katana. For a second she thought she saw her name. Before she knew it, her traitorous mind had started reading the contents of the worn book.

_As my birthday gift, father has given me __a daishõ. A daishõ consists of a katana and a smaller sword. Maybe I can make him proud now. Maybe if I become really good with swords, father will praise me. …. But then again he always says that Azula was born lucky and I was lucky to be born. But I will show him that I am a good, honourable son._

His handwriting was small and slanted. It fit him though. The entry stopped there. It was sad, really. He had to beg for his father's attention. On the next page she saw a poem. Intrigued, she started to read.

_Halfway through the promenade_

_  
In my gorge begins the toppling_

_Of the hourglass so that I recognize_

_I'm halfway through the promenade_

_Of which I don't miss a stride_

_  
The thorn-hedge, father and the rancour _

_They've driven us apart_

_I, sprouted from your seed_

_Became the mutilator of your existence_

_  
Now my voluble tongue is withered_

_Because I only wanted to be the fruit_

_And not the limb that carries her_

_So I remained an animal and I have howled_

_  
My dearest, the marauders are awaiting_

_In the decaying woods_

_While I stare at Agni's flaming sun_

_Passing the years blinded_

_  
Cause that is all that I have learned_

_From the louts in their sequence_

_That it is best to honour their elders_

_And further search for food_

_  
Look at me now, mother, your doleful, wretched child_

_That proved crippled and had to desert you_

_Now that I finally recognize the answer_

_It will avail us nothing…_

She stared at the page, dumbfounded. She reread the poem. Again. And again. This was a side of him that no one had seen yet. This was the lost soul that she had glimpsed in the catacombs of Ba Sing Se. Slowly a crystalline tear made its way down her face. The poem had touched her more than she wanted to admit.

A loud crack resounded somewhere in the temple and she dropped the journal. After waiting a few moments to make sure no one came, she picked it up again. It fell open on another much frequented page.

_  
No one believes in me anymore. I came back to the Fire Nation, hoping to claim my father's love and to find my home, but I __have come to a place of deceit and manipulation where words mean nothing. They say I have redeemed myself. Why do I feel so low then? _

_My home is no more. I realise now home isn't something tangible, it is the place where your soul feels at ease. Too late I have seen that my home is with my uncle. I cannot believe how stupid I have been. Betraying my uncle was the lowest thing I have ever done in my life. He has treated me with nothing but kindness and I stabbed him in the back! I can only hope for his forgiveness. _

_Last time I visited him in prison, he told me of my legacy. He told me that good and evil are at war inside myself and that I have the power to correct the sins of my family. But do I believe? Me, a traitor, a worthless nobody who never excels in anything, who has to struggle all the way? _

_I am so confused right now. I need his guidance. __I feel so alone._

Boy, this sure was heavy stuff. She thumbed through the journal and stopped when she saw the date of the eclipse.

_  
My last illusion has been stripped from me. Bereft of all hope__ is the proper idiom. I thought my father cared for me. At least a little bit. But today was my wake-up call. When I confronted my father, he tricked me into staying long enough so the eclipse would be over and shot lightning at me. Yeah, he tried to kill me. As if it wasn't enough he scarred me for life. He shot freakin' lighting at me!_

_But the smallest spark of hope has returned to me. He told me my mother was banished. She may be alive. Mother, ab imo pectore, may you still be alive._

_For you, I will redeem myself. For you, I will be strong. I have let you and uncle down countless times. But that will all change. I am ready. I know my legacy. I believe._

She slowly closed the book. She had looked straight into his soul, and she was quite shaken. With trembling hands, she put the items back in. She sat there for a while, reflecting on the things his journal had revealed.

A small smile graced her lips. It seemed as if she had underrated him.

She put the bag back in its original place and retreated towards the door. Glancing behind one last time, she opened the door and stepped out into the sunlight, her heart feeling lighter. Now she could trust him.

Things would turn out alright. She believed.

* * *

Hi, thanks to the wonderful reviews I received when I posted my one-shot 'Reconcilation', I decided to post this as well. I think that Zuko is underrated. True, I have made him very emotional, but I think he is deep. Maybe I have made him too emotional. :s

The poem was translated from Dutch. It's called 'Halfweg door de wandeling' van Jotie T'Hooft. It rhimed. My version doesn't. Well, 'traduttore traditore'. I'll tell you, the original is much better. If you wish, I could give the interpretation. Might clear things up.

Reviews are most highly appreciated. They make my day.


End file.
